


Finding Rest

by ai08



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8820532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ai08/pseuds/ai08
Summary: "I don't mean to pry," Newt continues. "I just smelled some chamomile on you this morning. Sorry, I know it's none of my business."This morning, when he had just received his new sleeping aid... Newt had noticed. Percival isn't sure what to say. No one has spoken to him so openly in years, not even Picquery."I'm really, really sorry. I'll shut up," Newt says quickly, having mistaken Percival's silence for annoyance."No, Newt, it's alright," Percival finally says. "Thank you for asking."Thank you for noticing.





	

When Percival sleeps, there is nothing. Not a dreamscape, not even his own two hands in front of him.

 

If they are even there at all.

 

But he is being foolish. He knows that he is no longer under the influence of the sleeping spell - no,  _curse_  - Grindelwald had cast on him. Nonetheless, Percival cannot stop feeling as if he is being suffocated.

 

He hopes now that he has reminded himself none of this is real that he can coax his mind to take him anywhere else.

 

But this night is turning out to be the same as every other night has been since his rescue. And he knows that the morning (if he even sleeps that long) will bring the same hand scrambling for a wand that he has never even let go, his sheets drenched in cold, damp sweat and his lungs burning, gasping for air.

 

-

 

Percival Graves has been back at work for a little over a week when he summons Newt Scamander back to America for questioning.

 

Madam President Seraphina Picquery and his aurors may have been willing to overlook Scamander's countless infractions and blatant disregard for the law due to his role in apprehending Grindlewald, but as far as Percival is concerned, Scamander would have needed to obliterate half of New York City even if there'd  _been_  no obscurus, thanks to the young man's mobile menagerie he had seen fit to unleash on  _his_  city.

 

And while Percival was not above admitting that Scamander was obviously a very talented wizard, it still did not excuse the fact that he had broken almost a dozen laws (that Percival was aware of) in under 48 hours. Celebrated hero or not, Scamander was not above the law.

 

Unfortunately for Percival and his absolute need to exact justice, the one person who can go over his head, does.

 

"What is this, Graves?" the president asks him, tossing his formal request to see the magizoologist on his desk. A single blonde eyebrow is raised; she is Annoyed.

 

"I need to speak with Mr. Scamander about last month's events."

 

"Everything is in his file. Your aurors were very thorough."

 

Percival levels her with a dark and heavy gaze at those words.  _So thorough they didn't notice I had been replaced,_  he thinks.

 

If Picquery is embarrassed by her brash choice of words, it doesn't show.

 

"I am personally denying this request," she continues without missing a beat.

 

"Madame President, with all due respect, Scamander's complete disregard for law and order is dangerous. He could have single handedly exposed us all. Grindlewald may have been defeated but others like him will rise; they always do. We need to be careful. That man is a threat to our society."

 

"This is not up for discussion," Picquery counters smoothly. "Scamander is a busy man who has aided us greatly. He is not to be summoned."

 

Picquery's lack of desire to uphold the law is very telling. Percival wonders what she has in store for the magizoologist.

 

-

 

"Mr. Graves, may I come in?"  Auror Goldstein stands at the door to his office, uncertain.

 

She has been reserved around him since his return. From what Percival could gather from all the reports he has read, Grindelwald had treated his subordinates with a little less... patience than was strictly professional. Unfortunately his aurors had chalked it up to the stress of dealing with the Second Salemers and the obscurial boy, much to Percival's annoyance and disappointment.

 

It would appear that they all needed some refreshing.  Aside from Goldstein. He is not surprised that Grindelwald had had Goldstein transferred to wand permits; he has a feeling that she may have been the only one to notice something was amiss, if the reports he read were anything to go by. He makes a mental note to keep his eye on such a promising young auror.

 

Percival is not offended by her uncertainty. Logically she knows that he is the real Director of Magical Security now but emotionally she is probably still dealing with the hurt of being dismissed, rejected, and ultimately hunted down by her superior officer. 

 

 _No, by Grindlewald_ , he vigorously corrects his thoughts.

 

"Mr. Graves?"

 

Percival shakes his head ever so slightly, trying to clear his thoughts, before turning his attention to her. 

 

"Yes, of course," he says in his most approachable voice. Percival may not be a kind man, but he is not a cruel man, either. If Grindelwald had not been transferred already, and if Percival had been a lesser man, he may have felt inclined to punish the dark wizard for causing this much grief.

 

"I wanted to introduce someone to you," Goldstein says as she steps into his office. 

 

A tall, slender man with messy auburn curls and a heavy blue overcoat walks in quietly behind her, infamous brown case in hand.

 

"Mr. Graves, this is Newt Scamander, the magizoologist who helped capture Grindlewald. Newt, this is Mr. Graves, Director of Magical Security. The, erm, real one," she attempts a joke.

 

Scamander barely makes eye contact with him but he does extend his hand in greeting. It is slighter than his own, but strong and far rougher. 

 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir," the younger wizard says.

 

Percival had nearly forgotten the man was British. He admits that his voice is not unpleasant. 

 

"Likewise," Percival says, voice low.

 

He glances down to the case Scamander is holding.

 

"I trust everything in there was declared at customs, Goldstein?" Goldstein's back straightens ever so slightly at the sound of her name.

 

"Oh, um, yes sir, of course."

 

(It is technically not a lie. Scamander had made it through no-maj customs without a single problem.)

 

"Let's have a look, just to be safe."

 

Goldstein's eyes widen and the color drains from her face. "Sir, Newt really just wanted to finally meet you, and I swear he-"

 

"It's alright, I don't mind," Scamander interrupts softly. "Mr. Graves is just doing his job."

 

At that, Percival nearly smiles. Either Scamander really has declared every magical creature in his possession, or he is stupidly overconfident in his concealment charms. For Scamander's sake, Percival dearly hopes that it's the former.

 

-

 

As it turns out,  _nothing_  has been declared and Percival fears a blood vessel may burst if they continue this much longer.

 

A nundu. Merlin, a fucking  _nundu_  was napping in a tree, cozy as you please, not 30 feet from the entrance to this damned zoo.  One breath from that beast was theoretically enough to take out an entire borough. And this... this half-wit was skipping around the country -around _his_  city- with the world's arguably most dangerous creature. Creatures.

 

Wonderful. 

 

"Mr. Scamander," Percival speaks through grit teeth. "Did you even  _attempt_  to conceal these animals?"

 

A blush of embarrassment begins to creep up the younger man's neck.

 

"N-no, sir," Scamander begins nervously. "They've been so good lately; I thought... that they would listen to me and stay hidden..."

 

"I've seen enough. I'm shutting this down," Percival says, turning on his heel to climb back up the ladder to his office. He couldn't get out of this madhouse and away from this mad man soon enough.

 

In a defiant display Percival didn't think possible for such a nervous man, Scamander scrambles to step in front of him, blocking his path.  "W-wait, Mr. Graves, please, at least let me explain-"

 

Something pushes between their legs, causing both men to nearly fall. It is an adolescent graphorn and it brushes up against Scamander as a feline familiar would. The younger wizard pats it's rump affectionately. 

 

"This is Babka; his parents are the last mating pair in existence," Scamander says quietly. "They have been hunted to near extinction for their hyde."

 

The lighting in this particular area of Scamander's enchanted case isn't particularly good but Percival swears he can see the magizoologist's doleful eyes misting up just a bit.

 

Percival looks away, uncomfortable being privy to such a private display.

 

Scamander clears his throat and continues. "I was able to harvest material from Babka's umbilical cord... I-I haven't perfected the technique yet but I have been able to reproduce graphorn hyde from it." Scamander looks up at him for a second. Percival tries to ignore it, but his stomach flutters for a moment when their eyes meet.

 

"I know I could use this technique to harvest materials from other creatures without harming them, given enough time," Scamander continues as he strokes the animal.  "Maybe I can at least save other species from being hunted, if I can't help the graphorn."

 

Percival isn't certain what comes over him. But before he realizes it he has already spoken. "You need to obtain a medical research permit. Follow me."

 

-

 

That night, Percival falls asleep reading at his desk. It is the first time since his rescue that he is able to sleep without drinking a potion. He dreams of graphorns and mooncalfs and bowtruckles, and doesn't wake up gasping.

 

-

 

Percival is the only auror to remain in Picquery’s office after the daily briefing.

He wants to ask why she hadn't told him Scamander was coming back to America so soon after his visit last month. Picquery clearly needs him for something and Percival wants to know what exactly that is; it’s troublesome that the president, who usually confides in him, has withheld this information.

  
“I don’t need you scaring him off with your zealous passion for the law,” she says like a legilimens with no sense of propriety. Percival is shocked that she has so easily read him. The president gives a half smile and motions for a spoon to drop two lumps of sugar in her coffee without looking up from her paperwork.  


“You must need him for something important if you’re suddenly turning a blind eye to his recklessness, Madame President.”  


Percival almost mentions the nundu to make his case, but something stops him. Scamander has his permit now and the nundu’s toxic breath has been charmed. He had seen to it himself, actually.  


( _Scamander gets a curious look on his face and sniffs at the air. “It’s like a brisk fall morning now…” he mutters thoughtfully as he stares at the giant cat. He flashes Percival a lovely smile, their eyes meeting briefly once more._ )

“Your ears have gone pink, Percival,” Picquery says, a small smile playing at her lips.  


Percival clears his throat. It isn’t as if Picquery doesn’t know what Scamander is carrying around. There is no need to waste her time.  


“So what will Mr. Scamander be assisting us with?” he asks, ignoring her comment.

 

She takes a sip of her coffee, and adds another lump of sugar to the cup. “Someone is smuggling magical creatures into the country,” she says. “Mr. Scamander has graciously offered to assist us.”

 

Percival wants to ask if Picquery understands the irony of her statement- She has brought a wizard who regularly and unapologetically smuggles dangerous magical creatures into their country in order to stop someone else from doing the same.

 

“I have it on good authority that they have a young graphorn, as well,” she says.

 

Percival raises a brow. “It seems you are becoming quite the activist, Madame President.”

 

“It’s good for public opinion,” she smiles coyly.

 

“You have a soft spot for the magizoologist,” he says. It’s not an accusation, just a statement.

 

It is Picquery’s turn to raise a brow.

 

“I’m not the one who obtained a medical research permit for him,” she counters. “In under an hour, I might add. Those usually take weeks.”

 

Percival is quickly growing uncomfortable with this conversation, and he is not used to feeling this way. He has the sudden urge to fidget under her gaze, and his tie is starting to feel entirely too tight so he begins to excuse himself.

 

“Percival,” she says before he can leave.

 

He turns to look at her.

 

“How are you doing these days?” she asks, voice uncharacteristically soft. It is a harmless enough question, but Percival knows what she is really asking about. He thinks about the one good night of sleep he had several days ago after his introduction to Newt Scamander. He thinks about the last few nights when the exhaustion and fear had returned. And he thinks about staring at his timepiece at three o’clock this morning, finally admitting to himself that he is too terrified to sleep.

 

“I am fine, thank you,” he says.

 

-

 

Percival is leaving his office for the evening when he bumps, quite literally, into Newt Scamander.

 

“I’m terribly sorry!” the younger wizard says sheepishly and backs up a bit.

 

“It’s quite alright,” Percival says quietly. “What can I help you with, Mr. Scamander?”

 

The magizoologist looks disheveled and happy. Percival catches himself almost mirroring the other man’s smile.

 

“I just wanted to thank you for getting me that permit. I had no idea how many more resources I’d have access to, so I honestly can't thank you enough.”

 

Percival wants to quip that many opportunities can arise when one goes about things the legal way, but he holds his tongue. He’s still not very certain that giving the eccentric magizoologist legal grounds to conduct his research was the best idea he’s ever had.

 

Percival wonders if the lack of sleep is starting to affect his judgment.

 

“I was wondering if- if you’d join me for dinner, as a thank you,” Scamander says, a bit nervously.

 

“It would be my pleasure,” Percival responds before he can fully process what he is agreeing to.

 

...The lack of sleep is most definitely affecting his judgment.

 

-

 

Percival Graves is many things. Hard working. Talented. Unyielding. Prepared.

 

Very, very prepared.

 

For example, he knows that Newton Artimis Fido Scamander was born in 1897 in a small village in Great Britain. His mother had made a name for herself as a hippogriff breeder while his father, unfortunately, was a no-maj. He also has a brother, Thesus Scamander, who, ironically enough, is a fellow auror and well respected colleague of Percival's. They had met several times during meetings between the Prime Minister and the President and owl each other regularly whenever they have something of interest to share with the other. It is a professional relationship, but a pleasant one nonetheless.

 

Unfortunately, he also knows that Thesus and his brother, for reasons unknown to him, are not on speaking terms. For this reason, he makes a mental note to avoid this subject with the younger wizard.

 

Unfortunate lineage and familial relations aside, Scamander is still very impressive in his own right. He may have been (wrongfully) expelled from Hogwarts in order to save a friend, but Percival cannot help but find himself oddly charmed by this strange wizard. The magizoologist has absolutely no regard for the law, but has more principle and character and heart than any wizard he has ever met.

 

Complete Pukwudgie material.

 

His determination and intelligence is apparently not to be taken lightly either, if his impressive resume is any indication.

 

After leaving Hogwarts, Scamander joined the Ministry of Magic and worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He spent two years in the Office for House-Elf Relocation before transferring to the Beast Division, where his extensive knowledge of magical creatures led to a rapid series of promotions.* And now, his first book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, is set to be published in a few weeks.

 

This awkward man, barely in his thirties and unable to hold anyone's gaze for longer than a second, is apparently The Authority on all things Magizoological.

 

And Percival is attracted to him. So very,  _very_  attracted to him.

 

But he knows that nothing can come of it. Even on the off chance that Scamander were to return any sort of affection for him, the relationship would not stand. While Percival is "free" to choose any partner of his liking, Scamander would not be welcomed by the Graves family.

 

Oh, his father would love to have the young magizoologist at parties or even over for coffee; he loves surrounding himself with the Famous and the Successful, but the Scamanders are, quite frankly, beneath them. Not to mention the younger wizard's odd beliefs about magical creatures and no-maj; his progressive attitude would surely offend.

 

Percival does not think any less of Scamander for any of this. It is simply a fact; they just come from different worlds.

 

He keeps reminding himself of this as the two walk side by side towards wherever Scamander is leading them for dinner.

 

But then their hands accidentally brush against each other as they walk and Percival's mind goes blank.

 

-

 

They sit at a small table in the corner of a dusty old pub. Percival is a man of few words, and Scamander is fidgeting in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with the silence.

 

So Percival wracks his mind for something of interest to talk about. He begins to perspire at his hairline and wonders what the hell has come over him; he has never felt this... eager, almost anxious, before. His eyes widen in horror for a moment when he realizes that he wants to impress Scamander.

 

Merlin help him.

 

He thinks about bringing up the smugglers they'll be dealing with together, but he doesn't want Scamander to think that all he talks about is work. He contemplates bringing up the magizoologist's upcoming publication but Percival knows so little about magical creatures; he doesn't want to come off as a fraud or a blowhard.

 

So naturally he brings up the one thing he told himself not to: Thesus.

 

"I am fairly well acquainted with your older brother," he begins abruptly. Percival glances up from his cola to gauge Scamander's reaction to his admission. (Scamander had taken them to a no-maj establishment. Percival thinks they could have not picked a worse time to legalize prohibition.)

 

"Oh," is all the other man says.

 

Percival's nervousness increases tenfold.

 

"Yes, we've met a handful of times. He's quite the auror, he told me he's even grappled with a minotaur. Interest in magical creatures must be hereditary."

 

Scamander's cheeks have gone red and his knuckles have gone white.

 

"Is that how he tells it, then?" he asks darkly, not looking up from his tea.

 

Percival has obviously touched on a sore subject. He mentally kicks himself; why hadn't he just asked about his day like a normal person?

 

"My brother killed a misunderstood creature. A minotaur would not attack without being provoked. I spent months studying them in Crete." He is quiet for a moment. Percival tries to think of something to salvage the conversation but Scamander speaks again.

 

"There is nothing more dangerous than human ignorance and fear. We think these creatures are monsters but... But we are the real monsters. No other species on this earth is motivated by power and greed like humans are. I have never met a beast with an ulterior motive. I cannot say the same for us."

 

Scamander sees the world so differently from him; Percival isn't sure what to say to smooth things over.

 

"Mr. Scamander, I-"

 

"I'm sorry," the younger man interrupts. "Most people find me annoying; I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable, Mr. Graves."

 

"Not at all," Percival is quick to reassure him. "I find you-" Refreshing. Fascinating.  _Ridiculously_  handsome. "I find your work to be very meaningful. And I will gladly assist you in any way that I can, so long as it is legal," he says in what he hopes come off as a playful tone. It isn't something that he attempts often. Or ever, really. 

 

Scamander holds his gaze for more than a fleeting moment, a genuine smile spreading across his face as the older wizard speaks.  


Percival knows he is in trouble.

 

-

 

After their meal, the pair decides to take an evening stroll. Scamander- ( _"Please, call me Newt," he says with a shy smile_.") -Newt is happily talking his ear off about his research, and Percival is content to allow the evening to last as long as the younger wizard wants.  


A no-maj automobile suddenly drives a little too close to them. Percival instinctively pulls Newt towards him for a moment, trying to keep him out of harm’s way. Newt does not pull away as quickly as most people would.

 

Percival spends the rest of his evening thinking about what that could mean.

 

-

 

Percival leaves Aceso Pollingtonius' office a little after 10 o'clock the following morning. He has been seeing the elderly healer since the incident for a few weeks now and exhaustion has finally won out over pride. He admitted that the sleeping aids she had supplied were not working and so Percival leaves with a different potion she promises will stop the dreamless nightmares. He sincerely hopes so.

 

Percival decides to take a walk through Central Park before heading to MACUSA headquarters. It is a bitter cold morning and he pulls his thick black scarf tighter around his neck, wishing it was less crowded so he could discreetly cast a warming spell.

 

He sees a familiar blue overcoat up ahead and picks up his pace- but as he gets closer he sees that it is an elderly no-maj and not the magizoologist.

 

Percival tries to ignore how disappointed he feels, and decides to cut his walk short and head to work.

 

He puts his hands in the pocket of his coat and-

 

Oh,  _Merlin_.

 

There is a creature in his pocket.  


" _Immobulus_ ," he quietly casts without a wand before the animal can scurry out of his pocket. It is Scamander's - _Newt's_ \- niffler.

 

"Stealing again, are we?" Percival asks it in a harsh whisper. "Do you know what we do to thieves, hmm?"

 

The niffler blinks up at him, eyes wide.

 

Percival sighs. "How long have you been out? Has your keeper noticed your absence yet, you little rodent?"

 

The niffler looks offended by the insult.

 

As if on cue, Newt comes out of the trees to Percival's left, looking frantic. But as soon as the auburn haired man spots the auror he tries to seem calm. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and he has a twig stuck in his hair. Percival is grateful that the collar of his overcoat conceals his smile.

 

"Oh, Percival! Good morning." The younger wizard is trying his best to act natural and is failing so, so miserably.

 

Percival nods in greeting. "What brings you to Central Park this morning?" he asks lightly.

 

"Just, uh, fancied a walk," Newt says unnecessarily loud. "By myself."

 

Percival raises a brow and Newt laughs nervously.

 

"Are you by chance... Looking for something?" Percival asks, deciding he doesn't want to know why the magizoologist is acting strange. Well, stranger than usual.

 

"N-no, sir!" Newt denies quickly.

 

"Newt, your niffler is in my coat pocket."

 

"...Oh."

 

"'Oh', indeed."

 

Just then, a heavy set man with wavy hair comes out of the trees Newt had come from a few minutes ago. Percival instantly recognizes him as the no-maj, Jacob Kowalski, who had aided Newt and Auror Goldstein.

 

"Newt! Did you find her?" he asks, out of breath.

 

Newt has a frozen smile on his face and he glances frantically back and forth between Percival and the no-maj, trying to think of something to say to rectify the situation.

 

Percival feels a headache coming on. The niffler alone would have been a simple citation, But  _this_... "Unauthorized release of a magical creature in a heavily populated no-maj district. Association with a no-maj. Infraction of the international statute of secrecy.  _Again_."

 

"To be fair it was more of an escape than a release," Jacob supplies, trying to be helpful.

 

"Mr. Graves," Newt says, "I promise-"

 

Percival puts his hand up. "I am sorry," he says quietly. "But I cannot let this go."

 

Jacob and Newt exchange nervous glances.

 

"If you'll both follow me, please," he says as he grabs them by the arm and swiftly side-apparates them to his office. 

 

-

 

“It says here that you were involved with Queenie Goldstein during the classified incident?” Percival asks, voice all business.  


“Ah, yes, sir,” Kowalski answers, cheeks going pink.

 

“And that you were obliterated immediately after the suspect was apprehended?”

 

“Uh, well, I don’t really remember that part, seeing as I was the one being obliterated and all.”

 

“That is understandable, Mr. Kowalski,” Percival closes the file he has been looking at and sets it to the side. He takes a deep breath, leans forward, and folds his hands in front of him.

 

Newt and the no-maj look absolutely terrified. Percival would be pleased by the display if he thought it would curb the younger wizard’s behavior, but, at this point, he is fairly certain that the magizoologist is a lost cause.

 

“Mr. Scamander, is there anything you would like to say in your defense?”

 

Percival knows that the last time Newt had been questioned he had nearly been executed. He is trying to be as understanding and cordial as possible, but there is only so much one can do when someone refuses to obey the law. And Percival cannot,  _will_  not, show favoritism. Not again. It was one thing to help the other man obtain a research permit. Even Percival, who knows next to nothing about magical creatures, can see the value in his work, however unorthodox it may be. It would have been a disservice to the entire magical community had he not helped the younger wizard have access to more resources.

 

But there is no way to spin this one.

 

Just then, Auror Goldstein bursts through his office door.

 

“Mr. Graves!” she says, out of breath. “I am so sorry for not knocking, but I have to speak with you.”

 

Newt and Kowalski wave at her. Goldstein glares at them both, and then turns her attention back to her superior.

 

“Please just hear me out. We, er, Newt wasn’t trying to break the law again, sir. It’s just that Jacob is sort of immune to the obliterate spell, and- and you can’t very well keep altering someone’s mind without their brains turning into oatmeal, and he’s honestly quite good at keeping secrets, (Jacob gives an enthusiastic nod at that.) and we, I mean, Newt-”

  
“No one is immune to that spell,” Percival says, quickly losing patience. “But do sit down, Auror Goldstein.”

 

He motions for a chair to approach. It falls in line to the left of Newt and Goldstein reluctantly takes a seat. Percival now has one witch, one wizard, and one no-maj fidgeting nervously in front of him and is starting to feel more like a guidance counselor at Ilvermorny and less like the Director of Magical Security.

 

Goldstein looks as if she may explode if she isn’t permitted to finish her explanation. Percival readies himself for the impending headache that is sure to be their “reasoning”, and bids her to continue.

 

“I don’t know how else to explain it, sir. Queenie and I were running errands one day, and we bumped into Ja- Mr. Kowalski on the street, and all of his memories of my sister just sort of… came back. He doesn’t remember everything. Mostly just moments with her. Mostly.”

 

“I see.”

 

Percival cannot believe that one of his best aurors is trying to sell him with her ‘true love and soul mates’ nonsense. Goldstein always struck him as the practical one of the two sisters; he dearly hopes he has not misjudged her.

 

“And so how did remembering your sister lead to these two conducting a search party together in Central Park this morning?” he asks as he leans forward to rest his chin on his interlocked fingers.

 

Tina turns to glare at the two men sitting next to her before she continues.

 

“I had no idea Newt would be back so soon. He came over the other day when Jacob was visiting Queenie and…" her voice trails off to a small whisper. "And... then he sort of remembered him, too.”

 

“So Mr. Kowalski remembers Newt and Queenie… But nothing more?” he asks, brow raised.

 

All three nod.

 

“I see,” he says flatly. “How… convenient for everyone that he has not recalled any classified information.”

 

Percival rises from his chair. “As these are slightly extenuating circumstances, I will have to defer to Madame President Picquery. Auror Goldstein, please have someone escort Mr. Scamander and Mr. Kowalski to a holding cell for the time being.”

 

Newt tries to object but Percival does not even look at him. He can’t. He’s certain his resolve will crumble if he does.

 

-

 

"The law is very clear on this matter, Director Graves, Auror Goldstein," Picquery states evenly after Goldstein pleads her sister's case.

 

Goldstein looks utterly crushed, as if it is she who has been told she may no longer see her lover. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears that are threatening to fall to disappear.

 

( _Newt's eyes well with emotion when he speaks of the no-maj he had befriended in December. His meal sits cold in favor of recounting the time Jacob fearlessly helped him catch his escaped creatures. Percival gets the feeling that friendships are few and far between for the eccentric man, something he can relate to._ )

 

Percival tries to ignore his thoughts and forces himself to focus on Goldstein. He can tell that she is fighting to hold her tongue. His auror is already going to be in trouble for keeping this matter from them; he doesn't want her to further hurt her career by doing anything rash.

 

...And if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't want to upset Newt, either, Merlin help him. He swore he wouldn't intervene, though. And it's not as if it would solve anything. Percival cannot keep saving the wizard every time he decides to put them all in jeopardy. But perhaps... perhaps Picquery can.

 

"Madam President, if I may?"

 

Piqcuery nods.

 

"It is dangerous to cast obliterate on a no-maj more than once, especially so soon after the previous incident. We are bound by law to not harm no-maj and we may benefit from studying Mr. Kowalski's apparent... resistance to the spell, as well. Might a compromise be made?"

 

Percival reasons with himself that everyone's safety is of the utmost importance. Worrying for the no-maj's mental health is in no way shape or form showing the magizoologist favoritism.

 

Perhaps it is the lighting in the president's office, but Percival is certain he sees a knowing twinkle in her eye. "Then I suppose our hands are tied then, aren't they, Director Graves?"

 

Goldstein cannot contain her tentative hopefulness. "What... What will that mean for my sister and Jacob, Madam President?" she asks.

 

"I suppose it means you'll have to be their keeper, Auror Goldstein," she says sternly, though Percival knows it is all for show. "Any misstep rests on your shoulders. Will you accept that responsibility?"

 

Percival can see the weight lift from his auror's shoulders. Goldstein is not one to be over taken by feminine emotion, but she does not bother to fight back the relieved sob that escapes her lips. "Thank you- thank you  _so_  much, Madame President," she says after a moment, trying to compose herself. "I promise I won't let you down."

 

In a rare display of her softer side, Picquery quietly offers the younger woman a delicate kerchief to dry her tears, and summons a steaming cup of coffee for her.

 

"Cream and sugar?" she asks lightly.

 

Goldstein blinks a few times, wondering how she went from defending her sister to drinking coffee with the president.

 

"Um, just sugar, please."

 

If Picquery were not his superior and he were the type to, he would roll his eyes at her. Here he is  _agonizing_  over using his position to ingratiate himself with Newt when Seraphina Picquery clearly has no qualms about it.

 

"What of the magizoologist?" Percival asks, slightly perturbed at this point. "I understand he will be a great asset to us but his disregard for the law is dangerous."

 

"Well," Picquery says as she steps from behind her desk and heads towards her velvet love seat. "I suppose you shall have to keep an eye on him as well, Director Graves.

 

"How about it? Will you keep him out of trouble?" She motions for Goldstein to sit with her. The young witch awkwardly complies, but has no idea what to do with her limbs and so she fidgets uncomfortably, spilling coffee on her pant suit.

 

Everything within Percival screams at him to say no. He does not have time to babysit the eccentric wizard. He does not have the patience or understanding to handle the countless more infractions he is bound to commit. And he's not sure he is strong enough to spend any more time with the younger man without giving himself away.

 

And so he has every intention of saying no.

 

"Yes, of course," he says quickly.

 

Wait. What.

 

"Excellent," Picquery says as she offers Goldstein some cake.

 

Percival, still in shock at his response, can only nod.

 

"Oh, and Director Graves?" Picquery calls. "Get Mr. Scamander and his friend out of my jail."

 

-

 

A beautiful blonde dressed all in layers of powder pink stands outside the doors to his office, pacing nervously.

 

"Miss Goldstein, how can I help you?" he calls to her.

 

Queenie Goldstein looks up at him and opens her mouth to speak but as soon as they make eye contact a huge relieved smile spreads across her face.

 

"Oh, thank you so much, honey!" she says as she rushes over to him.

 

Percival had forgotten the younger Goldstein is a Legilimens. He nervously wonders how much of his thoughts she had picked up and immediately clears his mind.

 

"I would greatly appreciate your discretion," he speaks lowly. Percival does not need the entire world knowing about his apparent... weakness.

 

The blonde witch reaches for his hand and gives it a squeeze. Percival tenses at the touch. "Your secret is safe with me, honey. I won't tell anyone you're just a big old softy," she jokes with a friendly grin.

 

Percival almost sighs with relief; apparently she hadn't heard all of his thoughts. He tells her where she can retrieve Mr. Kowalski and gives a polite wave as she runs off to collect her no-maj.

 

"Oh, and Mr. Graves!" she loudly calls over her shoulder from the other end of the hallway, "Good luck with Newt!"

 

...So much for hoping some things would remain a secret.

 

Percival's ears burn with embarrassment well into the evening.

 

-

 

It is nearly seven in the evening when Percival leaves his office for home. He needs to clear his mind and decides to go for a walk. He wanders the streets of downtown New York and wonders what to do about Newt Scamander. Percival has promised to keep him out of trouble, but keeping Newt within the bounds of the law is like asking water to not be wet. His very nature is incompatible with such a request; Newt cares about what is  _right_ , not what is legal.

 

This thought stops him in his tracks. Why is there even a separation between the two? Would the world really be so terrible if it was the way Newt wished it to be?

 

Percival pinches the bridge of his nose. What is he even thinking; these laws are in place to protect them all. No-maj as a general rule are not friendly to their kind. Mr. Kowalski is an exception, not the rule. Not to mention Newt's creatures... He may see something good in them, but they would -and have- done more harm than good.

 

Newt is a kind soul. Perhaps too kind for this world.

 

...Percival really will have to protect him from himself, especially if MACUSA is to utilize his skills.

 

The auror passes a small shop that looks to be closing soon. It is a no-maj establishment, but he spots some jars filled with loose leaf tea. He does not drink the stuff, but he thinks it might be nice to keep some in his office for the British wizard, just in case.

 

-

 

Percival stops at  _The Howling Grim_  to grab dinner before making his way home. He chooses a table in the back so he might read in peace. Just as he is about to settle into his novel, he sees a familiar blue overcoat and curly auburn hair.

  
He tries to ignore the almost painful surge of his heart at the sight of the other man. He has seriously got to get a hold on his attraction; this is getting ridiculous.

 

Percival tries his best to focus on what he is reading. No doubt he is the last person Newt wants to see. After detaining him this morning... He honestly has no idea how he is going to handle this. He will not apologize; Newt and the no-maj should not have been gallivanting around New York with a niffler at large.

 

A young man takes the seat opposite Newt; Percival does not recognize him. Again he tries to tell himself to mind of own business, but his book has long been forgotten. He watches the two for a moment when subtle movement from the table behind Newt catches his attention. An older witch, perhaps in her 60s, has discreetly drawn her wand and has pointed it at Newt.

 

The man across from Newt has placed a small cloth bag on the table in front of them. It moves slightly. Newt slides something across the table towards the other wizard and moves to reach for the cloth bag.

 

Percival's heart is pounding. Newt is being set up and he doesn't even realize it. These scammers have every intention of making off with Newt's money and the creatures in that bag.

 

" _Immobulus_!" he stands and says through grit teeth, wand raised menacingly.

 

The two are frozen on the spot, their eyes fixed nervously on him.

 

Newt grabs the bag and turns to face Percival, his face white as a sheet. Before he can say anything, Percival has flashed his badge, side-apparated the two to MACUSA headquarters to be arraigned, and apparated back.

 

When he returns he grabs Newt by the arm and drags him out of the pub. He contemplates apparating again but he needs to work off some of his anger before they can speak.

 

"Mr. Graves," Newt says, " _Please_ , let me explain! I-"

 

There is a dark alley to their left. It is as good a location as any as there are few pedestrians on this street. Percival practically drags him into the alley. He releases the younger wizard's arm and the magizoologist's back hits the brick wall from the force.

 

A tiny green creatures sticks out from the lapel of Newt's jacket to shake his fist at him. The urge to flick him away is so, so tempting.

 

Percival steps into Newt's personal space with every intension of intimidating the man. Newt is ever so slighter taller than him. He hadn't noticed before. The younger man looks completely terrified and Percival... Percival sighs and takes a small step back.

 

"Did you save them?" he asks quietly.

 

Newt swipes vigorously at his eyes and nods. "Four bowtruckles," he says, voice shaking. "They are so, so malnourished."

 

Without thinking, Percival reaches forward and gently touches his arm.

 

"Let me walk you home," he offers. Newt gives him a small smile and Percival's heart aches again.

 

-

 

They walk nearly four blocks without either saying a word. Newt is first to break the silence.

 

"I'm sorry for this morning," he says quietly. "And for tonight, as well. I don't want to get you in trouble... If you've got to turn me in again I wouldn't hold it against you."

 

Percival doesn't speak for a moment. He's so relieved that Newt isn't upset with him he doesn't really know quite what to say to the younger man. Is there a self serving bone in Newt's body? For Merlin's sake, he threw the other wizard and his best friend in jail this morning and  _Newt_  is the one apologizing? Not that Percival has done anything wrong... But still. He does not understand the magizoologist.

 

How has life not hardened him? How does he still see goodness in the world when he is constantly met with people like himself, selfish and stifling? How does he make himself get up every morning with the passion to do what is right when he's got to know he can't save every bowtruckle and obscurus he comes across? Percival really does not understand him at all... But he wants to.

 

Newt is like a sliver of light seeping into an old abandoned room and Percival can't help but be drawn to him. The world is full of Percival Graves, but there aren't enough Newt Scamanders.

 

"Percival?" Newt asks, drawing the older wizard from his thoughts.

 

"My apologies," he says, "I'm just a little tired. You aren't in any trouble, so don't worry."

 

He picks up his pace as the night air is becoming bitterer by the moment but Newt lingers behind.

 

"Is something the matter?" Percival calls to him.

 

"Um... This isn't exactly the direction to my place..." Newt admits with a mumble.  


"I beg your pardon?"

 

"Well... I didn't want to cause you more grief but... I really like you and I don't want to lie to you anymore and the truth is that I'm staying with Jacob above his bakery," Newt says in one anxious breath.

 

Of course Percival's mind stalls at "I really like you" and it takes a good five or ten seconds for the rest of the sentence to process. Percival is certain he has gone red in the cheeks and is thankful for the darkness and cold air.

 

"You..." he clears his throat and tries again. "I am honestly not surprised at this point," he says, voice an odd combination of shocked and exasperated.

 

Newt laughs and rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. He tells Percival his actual address and they (finally) head toward his home.

 

"I hope you sleep well tonight," Newt says, seemingly out of the blue. Percival supposes it's the other man's awkward attempt at small talk.

 

"Ah... You as well," he replies.  
  


"I don't mean to pry," Newt continues. "I just smelled some chamomile on you this morning. Sorry, I know it's none of my business."  
  


This morning, when he had just received his new sleeping aid... Newt had noticed. Percival isn't sure what to say. No one has spoken to him so openly in years, not even Picquery.

 

"I'm really, really sorry. I'll shut up," Newt says quickly, having mistaken Percival's silence for annoyance.

 

"No, Newt, it's alright," Percival finally says. "Thank you for asking."

 

 _Thank you for noticing_.

 

Percival chances a glance at the other wizard. Newt is cooing sweetly at the four newest members of his family and Percival is certain he hears him say, "mummy is here, don't worry." He nearly snorts. Of course. Of course Newt would consider himself their mother.

 

He smiles softly at the display and a small, contented sigh escapes his lips. Newt glances over at him at the sound, catching Percival staring at him.

 

"Maybe we could get dinner again sometime?" Newt asks, quickly breaking eye contact.

 

Percival's eyes widen. Is Newt... asking him out?

 

"I would like that very much," he responds warmly before he can think too much.

 

Newt flashes him a grin. "Excellent!" he says.

 

They reach Newt's home much more quickly than Percival had hoped they would. He walks Newt up the outside stairs leading to Jacob's apartment. It is a no-maj establishment and the salt has gotten rid of much of the ice, but Newt still manages to find some to slip on.  


He rights himself before he falls, but not before Percival places a hand at the small of his back and grabs his elbow. Newt laughs sheepishly and thanks him.

 

Percival smiles back, squeezes Newt's elbow once gently, and bids him good night.

 

-

 

The following morning Percival receives a note from one of his sources. The smugglers will be arriving tonight, disguised as no-maj. Their target is a portkey, an old gas stove at a land fill just outside the city and they will be moving quickly as they'll want to get out of the capitol as soon as possible. Luckily for Percival and his team, their only way in will be through Ellis Island. Percival will have them detained before they even step foot in New York City.

 

 _And afterwards, Newt will have however many more mouths to feed_ , he thinks, a fond smile spreading across his face.

 

...Which quickly disappears when he thinks about the headache he'll no doubt end up with trying to think of ways for Newt to legally keep even more dangerous animals. Percival's intel is good, but there is no way to know everything that the smugglers are trying to bring into the country. The only thing he knows for certain is that they have an adolescent graphorn, something Newt is desperate to obtain.

 

And when Newt is desperate, his sense of self preservation goes out the window, if last night's events are any indication. He wonders if bringing Newt into this operation is such a good idea, but then again, he is their best bet at survival. Percival is essentially sending his aurors in blind- they could have a dozen Norwegian Ridgebacks for all they know. And even with Percival's years of training, one wrong move and they could all be dead.

 

He sends a memo to his team to meet after lunch to discuss their plan of action. After a moment of consideration, he dips his quill in ink to pen another:

 

 _ ~~Dear Newt~~_ ,

 

No, no. Too personal.

 

 _ ~~Mr. Scamander~~_ ,

 

Too stuffy. They are, at the very least, friends, aren't they?

 

_~~To whom it may concern~~ _ ~~:~~

 

...Really?

 

 _ ~~Scamander~~_ ,

 

That won't do either; it's too impersonal.

 

He finally settles on his first draft.

 

_Dear Newt,_

_Please join me for lunch in my office at noon._

_Kind regards,_  
_Percival_

 

-

 

They take lunch in his study, a small room with a few pieces of furniture and a fireplace, just off of his office. Neither man is much for small talk, but Percival finds that Newt is quite the chatter box if you get him on the right subject.

 

Unfortunately for him, that subject is currently flesh-eating slugs and their surprisingly important contribution to their ecosystem. It's not the most riveting of subjects, but Percival doesn't quite mind. They've already discussed the plan for this evening and Newt has promised to not take any risks, not that Percival believes him for a second.

 

"...and that way they don't harm your vegetables. They prefer that variety anyway. It's a win-win, really."

 

Percival isn't quite sure what to do with all of this new information he has. And horrifically enough, the fact that Newt even cares about slugs ( _slugs_ , for Merlin's sake), is surprisingly endearing to him.

 

Percival is infatuated. It's embarrassing at this point, really, but he is at least adult enough to admit these feelings to himself. What he hadn't counted on, however, was the attraction being mutual.

 

Percival is excellent at reading others. One must be in order to survive his line of work. He wasn't sure at first, of course- sometimes nervousness can be mistaken for other emotions, but no. Everything in Newt's posture is a tell. His body is pointed toward his. He struggles with eye contact but makes an effort to maintain it with Percival. He never pulls away from a touch first. All of their interactions, when examined and pieced together, make perfect sense, as well. He could list them all, but the fact that he bares the older wizard no ill will after having been tossed in jail is proof enough.  


Not to mention Newt's admission last night.

 

"Oh, before I forget," Newt says and begins to rummage through his pockets. He pulls out a willow hoop; woven netting stretches across it and feathers and beading dangle from the bottom.

 

"It's a dream catcher," Newt explains, staring at some fixed point just to the left of Percival's shoulder. "It's charmed with native magic of the Ojibwe people to filter out bad thoughts and dreams and only let the good ones through."

 

"Ah... Thank you, Newt. That's very thoughtful." It had never crossed Percival's mind to seek out native magic to help with his sleep problems. His new potion was working much better than the previous one, at least so far, but he had still woken up exhausted this morning.

 

"When did you get this?" he asks, examining the delicate detailing of the web.

 

"I was out west for a bit in December," Newt explains. "An elderly shaman gave it to me."

 

Percival senses there is more to the story. But Newt doesn't elaborate, and so he doesn't press. “Thank you,” he says softly as he tucks his gift into the top drawer of his desk, gently stroking an impossibly golden feather for a few seconds.

 

“Actually, I got it recently,” Newt admits in a rush, cheeks burning. “I could tell you weren’t sleeping well when we first met. I meant to give it to you sooner… Sorry.”  


In that moment Percival’s heart swells, nearly painfully so, and he decides he no longer cares if high society would approve of a match between the two of them or not. Let his father huff and shun him. Let his grandmother spin in her grave and shout at him from her portrait. Percival is aware of the fact that they barely know each other, but he knows he will regret it if he doesn't at least see where things could go.

 

"I seem to be in possession of a pound of tea but no one to drink it," he attempts a playful tone. "Why don't we sit by the fire for a moment? We've got time before the debriefing."

 

Newt cracks a grin at the older man's terrible attempt at flirting, and Percival allows himself to smile back.

 

-

 

It is 2 AM and Percival's team has subdued and arrested all of the smugglers. None of Percival's aurors have been injured, either, thankfully. On parchment, it is a very successful mission.

 

But you wouldn't know it by looking at the young man kneeling on the ground, holding a small, emaciated body in his arms. It hadn't mattered to the smugglers if the creatures arrived dead or alive. Apparently resources had been tight and they had allowed the animals to starve to death on the voyage across the ocean. A logical choice on their part, as the animal's black market value was not affected by death.

 

Percival stands behind Newt and places a hand on the younger man's shoulder, trying to offer what little comfort he can.

 

"What will they be charged with?" Newt asks, voice shaking with barely contained rage and anguish.

 

"Smuggling dangerous animals with intent to sell. A minimum sentencing of 25 years."

 

"So they won't be charged with abuse or neglect. With killing dozens of animals who are already endangered."

 

Percival has no idea how to respond; MACUSA has no laws protecting these creatures. Bringing them here is punishable but letting them starve to death is not. For the first time, Percival feels ashamed of the system he has spent his life fighting so hard to uphold. For what good is a justice system if there is no justice.

 

Percival crouches down to bring himself closer to the magizoologist.

 

"Stay," he nearly whispers. They are so close his breath touches the nap of Newt's neck. "Stay here and change things. Like you did at the Ministry."

 

Newt sniffles and wipes at his eyes. They both stand up, but neither one moves out of the other's personal space.

 

Newt turns to face him, tears in his eyes and a small, sad smile on his face. "I... Thank you, I think I will. If the president will allow it."

 

Percival's aurors are still at work, taking stock of everything the smugglers had on board with them. It is just two of them standing under a street light, but the air is so foggy from the sea that they can barely see each other.

 

He doesn't need to see Newt clearly to know that the younger man is seconds away from breaking down, though. Newt needs time and space to mourn these deaths.

 

"My aurors and I can handle it from here," Percival says. "Go home, Newt."

 

Newt shakes his head. "I need to examine the... bodies as soon as possible. Do an autopsy..." His voice is distant. Percival shakes his head no. "We'll use a preserving charm until you're up for it," the director says quietly. "You need to rest now."

 

Newt nods in understanding and lifts his wand to apparate, but Percival grabs his wrist before he can. He shakes his head gently; he is not comfortable with Newt apparating in this state.

 

"Let me," he says lowly and side-apparates them to Newt's and Jacob’s shared apartment. When they arrive Percival moves to take a step back, but Newt slumps against him before he can.

 

"Sorry..." Newt mutters into his shoulder, his voice shaking.

 

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Percival says as he places a hand on Newt's back. He wants to pull the younger wizard even closer but doesn't want to make him uncomfortable. But he can't imagine how the younger man must be feeling... His first time working with MACUSA and he'll be spending most of it in the morgue. Percival's heart feels uncomfortably heavy.

 

After a moment Newt pulls back. The urge to kiss him and pull him back into his chest is overwhelming but now is not the time for that. He settles for squeezing Newt's hand before putting some distance between them.

 

"I've got to go back," Percival says apologetically and Newt nods in understanding.

 

-

 

A moment later Percival arrives at MACUSA headquarters and heads straight for the holding cells.

 

Four wandless and very frightened wizards stare up at him when he arrives outside their jail. Percival slowly walks up and down the narrow corridor, thoughtfully tapping his wand against his non dominant hand, reminiscent of a no-maj teacher holding a ruler.

 

"My sources promised me a live graphorn would be on board your ship," he says curtly. "Any idea where it might be hiding, gentlemen?"

 

-

 

Apparently Percival's reputation precedes him; it doesn't take any time at all for the criminals to divulge the location of the graphorn with a wand pointed at them. He is even gracious enough to offer a lighter sentencing as thanks for their cooperation, although the paperwork documenting their bargain will unfortunately go missing before morning.

 

Pity.

 

As it turns out, the graphorn has been promised to a wealthy witch named Magdalena Bloodworth of upstate Connecticut. The Bloodworths are old money, much like the Graves, and the two families have always had close ties with each other. He wonders just how big this smuggling problem is going to turn out to be. He has a sinking feeling that many other elite members of the magical community are keeping exotic pets as well. Newt will certainly have his work cut out for him.

 

Percival finds the young graphorn under deck in an old barrel charmed to appear full of rotten potatoes. Based on his previous encounter with Newt's graphorn, this one is either much younger, or severely malnourished.

 

When it sees him, it cowers and cries out. There is no way he will be able to lift it out on his own and he doesn't want to frighten it with any sudden spells. So he gently tips the barrel over and gives it space to walk out on its own.

 

After a few moments it finally comes out, but it is much too weak to walk very far. It must have been kept in the barrel for the entirety of the voyage.

 

With a sigh, he casts a calming spell on the creature and charms his coat pocket to be spacious enough for a temporary four legged guest.

 

-

 

"Newt, that man who arrested us knows where we live!" Jacob Kowalski shouts as he slams the door in Percival's face. "I  _swear_  we haven't done anything else, mister," he calls nervously through the door.

 

"I have something for Newt," Percival explains. "You're not in any trouble."

 

Jacob opens the door again. "Oh. Well. In that case, come on in."

 

Just then Newt steps into the hallway. He is still in yesterday's clothes and his eyes are swollen and bloodshot. He has been crying.

 

Jacob frowns."You ok, Newt?"

 

"This is classified MACUSA business," Percival says bluntly. Then, adds more softly, "I'm sorry Mr. Kowalski, but may we speak privately?"

 

Jacob glances to Newt who nods. The no-maj shrugs and grabs his hat and jacket. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything," he says to his friend. "I'm going to make some niffler fritters again, should be ready by eight. Tell Midas the icing isn't real gold so she'll stop stealing them, please?"

 

Newt's niffler peaks out of his pocket at the sound of her name but stays put when she spots Percival.

 

The clock in the hallway strikes five times. Percival had not meant to come by quite so early but he didn't want to keep Newt waiting. And from the looks of it, the younger man could use some good news.

 

"I've got something for you," Percival says quietly. "Could we perhaps chat in your case?"

 

-

 

They stand in Newt's workshop (Laboratory? Office? Percival isn't sure what to make of the messy space) and Percival asks him to take a seat and close his eyes.

 

Newt furrows his brows, clearly not in the mood for games, but he is too tired to argue. Percival isn't the type to draw things out like this but he's actually a little excited. He can't wait to see Newt's eyes light up again.

 

The calming charm is still in effect and the creature remains relaxed and quiet, settling quite nicely into Percival's arms even though it is nearly too big to be held.

 

"Alright, open your eyes," he says, barely able to contain a smile.

 

Newt doesn't move for a moment. He just sits there, staring at the baby animal in complete shock.

 

"This one made it," Percival says quietly. "It's yours. Legally. I've already handled the paperwork."

The graphorn spots Newt and squeaks at him. It squirms and bucks and Percival sets it down before the impatient little thing falls.

 

The animal limps toward the magizoologist and that is all Newt needs to shake off the events of the last few hours. He runs a hand over its hyde and hooves, looks into its eyes, and checks its mouth. "She's about a stone under weight," he mutters to himself. "Eyes are clear and gums look good. Legs are weak from lack of use, though." She squeals and rubs against him, nuzzling her face into his leg.

 

"She is still a nursling," he whispers. Without any preamble or explanation Newt runs outside and lets out what seems to be the cross between a whale call and a screech. A minute or so later the mated graphorns and their only offspring approach. Newt presents the female to the mother, who crouches down to examine her.

 

Percival had no idea he'd been holding his breath until the mother welcomes the baby to nurse and he releases a relieved sigh.

 

"I wasn't sure if she was still producing any milk," Newt says to himself. "That's a relief."

 

"Will she be alright?" Percival asks.

 

Newt blinks and jumps a bit. Percival almost laughs; he had been completely forgotten about at the sight of the baby graphorn. It's so endearing Percival can't bring himself to feel offended.

 

"You... saved her," Newt's voice cracks a bit. "For me."

 

Percival nods. "Picquery did promise you a graphorn," he says seriously. "I couldn't allow the president to lose face."

 

Newt snorts at his stupid joke and Percival thinks he'd like to hear that laugh everyday if he can.

 

"Get some rest," the older wizard says. "We'll have a debriefing at ten since it was such a late night for everyone."

 

"Alright," Newt says. Neither man moves.

 

"Tonight we're going to-"

 

"If you aren't too busy-" They both try to speak at the same time. Percival apologizes and asks Newt to repeat himself.

 

"Tina and Queenie are coming over for dinner tonight. I was wondering if you'd like to join us?" Newt says.

 

"I would like that," Percival says softly.

 

"What were you going to say?" Newt asks.

 

"It's nothing, Newt. Really. I'll see you this evening."

 

Percival turns to climb out of the case but Newt grabs his wrist. The older wizard stops and faces him.

 

"You're  _nothing_  like Grindlewald," the magizoologist blurts out. "I wish I had met you sooner. I swear I would have known the difference." Newt is blinking back tears and gripping his wrist so tightly Percival is starting to lose the feeling in his hand, though he hardly notices.

 

Percival steps closer and reaches out with his other hand to brush back a lose curl, but a swooping evil flies in and lands on Newt's shoulder. The moment is lost.

 

Next time, then.

 

-

 

After the debriefing, everyone is excused except for Percival.

 

"This isn't your department but I thought you might be interested." She hands him a thick roll of parchment. He skims it and raises a brow.

 

"You've already prepared legislation to protect magical creatures? Do you really think congress will care to listen?"

 

"They will after last night. Sneaking in magical creatures so brazenly? And that level of neglect... We are rather behind the times, it seems. Other nations would have my head if I didn't do something. Congress will have no choice but to pass this if they don't want any international backlash."

 

Legislation such as this is not penned in an evening.

 

"You've been planning this from the beginning, haven't you," Percival states.

 

Picquery nods once.

 

"You knew those animals would die." His voice is growing dangerously dark.

 

"I also knew that they had to keep that graphorn alive for Bloodworth," she counters. "There was no other way to ensure Newt would take on this job if he didn't see firsthand how horrible this problem is." She stares at him pointedly, daring him to deny it.

 

Percival is angry but cannot fault the president's logic. "I understand," he says but inside he feels sick. "Did he?" he asks quietly.

 

"Did he what, take the job?" Picquery laughs. "He was waiting for me at my office when I arrived. We've already discussed how we're going to move forward with this. We'll take a vote after Bloodworth's very public arrest so I'm certain congress will vote favorably. MACUSA has its very own magizoologist now, aren't you proud?"

 

"I cannot condone your methods but I cannot fault your results," he says flatly.

 

"I've disappointed you," she says quietly.

 

He shakes his head no and excuses himself.

 

-

 

The world is not black and white and Percival does not know what to do with this realization. Newt has turned the director's world on its head and he finds himself uncomfortably uncertain.

 

What is legal and what is right are not always the same. And for the first time in his life, that fact bothers him. Percival has never believed that the ends justify the means, but Picquery's action have never bothered him like this in the past. He might not agree with her methods but he has always understood that in order to get anything accomplished, she has to play the game. A weaker wizard would crumble under the weight of her responsibilities. A less scrupulous wizard would take advantage. Picquery simply does what she must in order to protect her people. Logically, Percival knows that Seriphina Picquery is a good woman who is trying to fix a corrupt system the only way she is able to. A corrupt system they have both stood by for decades.

 

The guilt he feels is stifling.

 

-

 

There is a knock at his office door.

 

"We're having cake to celebrate Newt's new job, if you'd like to join us in the break room?" Tina calls to him. Her sister stands next to her holding a white box. It is no doubt one of Mr. Kowalski's creations.

 

"No thank you, Auror Goldstein," he says, not looking up from his work. "I cannot take a break right now."

 

His auror nods in understanding, but Queenie Goldstein lingers at his door.

 

"Did you need something, Ms. Goldstein?"

 

Queenie takes that as permission to make herself comfortable and takes a dainty seat in front of his desk, carefully holding the cake box in her lap.

 

"Might everyone wonder where the cake is?"

 

"Oh! Of course, how silly of me!" she giggles and sends it on its merry way with a flick of her wand.

 

Percival continues to work. He does not trust himself to think of anything save his paperwork around the legilmens.

 

"Jacob made me promise not to interfer-"

 

"Then perhaps you should heed his advice," the director cuts her off. "It is wise to mind one's own business."

 

Percival doesn't mean to snap but Queenie puts him on edge. She is much more perceptive than she lets on and he is suspicious that it is intentional; Queenie is difficult to read and that is extremely disconcerting to the older man.

 

Queenie laughs. "Oh honey, you think too much. I told you your secret is safe with me!"

 

Percival clears his throat and sets his quill down. "How may I be of assistance?" he asks, pretending she has not brought that up.

 

"I just have a suggestion," she says cheerfully.

 

"And what might that be," he says dryly, tapping his finger against the desk. (Out of frustration, not nervousness.  _Obviously_.)

  
"Newt spent his entire lunch break thinking about nonchalant ways to offer to walk you home after dinner. I doubt the poor dear will work up the courage to go through with it so perhaps you could suggest it?"

 

Percival is certain he has gone completely red in the face. Why must legilmens feel entitled to intrude in other's lives? The director of magical security does not have time to chat about boys with the ditzy witch as if they were old school mates.

 

"Ah... thank you for your advice," he states as calmly as he can muster. "If you would please close the door on your way out?"

 

-

 

Dinner is surprisingly pleasant. Newt is not allowed to give specifics, but it is obvious from his demeanor that his meeting with Picquery about the legislation she is planning to introduce has been wildly successful. The young man is all smiles and can't seem to stop talking. His frequent glances at the older wizard don't go unnoticed, either.

 

"I've contacted my publisher, we're going to try and time it so that my book is published in the States around the same time as the Bloodworth trial. Madame President Picquery said that the fastest way to enact change is to make it a public concern. Congress will vote unanimously if there is enough public outcry. I've even got a well known mediwitch writing my forward!"

 

Percival smiles softly. He will have to apologize to Picquery for his behavior earlier; he knows she did the best she could. And seeing Newt this happy... That's really all that matters.

 

Percival wouldn't say that he feels comfortable with Newt's friends but he cannot deny that the evening has been a well deserved break from his normal routine. Sometimes it is nice to simply be around others. Sometimes it is nice to be thought of.

 

The evening naturally winds down, and by nine Jacob is ready to turn in. Tina waits for Queenie and Jacob to say their goodbyes (which takes longer than Tina would like as her sister can't ever seem to stop kissing the no-maj). By a quarter passed, it is only Newt and Percival quietly sitting in the parlor, both nursing beverages that have long since gone cold.

 

Percival is the first to break the silence. "I should be going," he says and stands. Newt follows suit, shooting up from his chair so fast his bowtruckle nearly goes flying. Newt gets a tiny green fist shaken at him for that.

 

"I could see you home," Newt offers quickly. Apparently Queenie had been mistaken about how brave Newt is.

 

 

"I don't want to inconvenience you," Percival says but internally he's smacking himself for opening his mouth.

 

"It's no inconvenience," Newt says, holding the older wizard's gaze.

 

-

 

Percival's town house is, not surprisingly, in one of the better parts of the city. Newt is not impressed by wealth, but he is obviously excited to learn where the director lives.

 

"I always pegged you for a 'dark and ominous mansion' type chap," Newt jokes as he takes in the ornate, modern architecture.

 

"You would be thinking of the Graves' family estate," Percival remarks dryly. Newt laughs, his breath swirling in the night air.

 

 

"Did the dream catcher help you last night?" the younger man asks lightly. They are both shivering outside his front door and he is certain Newt is stalling.

 

Percival wants to ask him inside and put them both out of their misery but propriety wouldn't allow it.

 

"I didn't get much rest last night," Percival admits. He had been too busy intimidating smugglers and filling out paperwork for an orphaned graphorn to sleep.

 

"Oh. Well. I hope you get some rest tonight," Newt says softly.

 

For a moment they both stand in silence, neither certain of what to say. Newt's hair is windblown, his cheeks are red and his lips are chapped from the winter air. He's breathtaking.

 

"May I..." Percival loses his nerve and swallows, taking a step back. But Newt takes a small step forward and somehow they are now even closer than they were before. He's not certain who closes the gap, but a moment later they are kissing.

 

It's chaste; Newt does not open his mouth and Percival does not push, wanting to take this as slowly as Newt might need. He cups the sides of the younger man's face, gently rubbing his stubbled cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Newt leans in and tentatively places a hand at Percival's waist.

 

Percival breaks the kiss first, but does not move his hands. Newt casts his eyes down, feeling a bit self-conscious, but he's got a small grin on his face.

 

"I owe Queenie a thank you," Newt says.

 

"Why is that?" Percival asks, voice barely above a whisper as he tucks a stray auburn curl behind Newt's ear.

 

"She convinced me to walk you home tonight," he replies.

 

 _That meddling witch_ , Percival thinks fondly.

 

“See you tomorrow?” Newt asks hopefully.

 

“Of course,” he says, pulling the younger man in for one last kiss.

 

-

 

It is well after midnight when Percival finally turns in for the night. He hangs the dream catcher above his bed, giving it a small smile, and climbs under the covers.  
  


When Percival sleeps, there is nothing. Nothing but the smell of hot tea, the sight of windblown auburn hair, and the feeling of rough fingers interlaced with his own.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic originally titled "Different Books". I cleaned it up and gave it an ending instead of dragging it out. Thanks for reading!


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